


His Name

by Angel_ite



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 11:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16061756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_ite/pseuds/Angel_ite
Summary: Yes, that natural philosopher was indeed younger than him—a boy, by all accounts—but why should he feel inferior? Jindosh was a craftsman, an engineer beyond his time. He had no reason to be in the least bit intimidated by some callow youth fresh from the Academy of Natural Philosophy.[I'm back on my bullshit with a Jealous!Kirin x Reader NSFW one shot]





	His Name

(Alternate reality wherein Jindosh graduated from the Academy. Circa 1850. Wynnedown, Morley.)  
He sits impatiently near the back of the ballroom; he is not so close to the exit that it would insult the host, but he wants these groveling bastards to know he’s not interested in conversing. It’s too damned loud in here and nearly twice as suffocating. He never would have come to this sort of thing had he not been specifically invited to give a lecture as their headliner. But that finished up two hours ago. The euphoria had worn off and now he felt a familiar throb near the back of his head as a migraine began to form.  
Even smoking couldn’t sooth his nerves that everyone insisted on stepping upon. The mixed smells of expensive tobacco were nauseating and it vexed him to no end that noblemen would come and sit next to him, asking him questions when he so clearly did not want to be bothered.  
_And where were you,_ he thought with a particular poison brewing in his chest, _You were the one so adamant about staying the whole time._  
He smoothens his moustache, brooding, and squints around the room. You’d always been better around these people—the rich. Jindosh typically got under their skin in some way or another. He took pride in that, though, and resigned instead to becoming a wallflower until he was directly summoned.  
And, unfortunately, the more fame he gained through his creations, the more often that was.  
Tonight was different. These were all philanthropists who wanted to fund the most shocking and outrageous of philosophers. He’d already secured his funding long ago, shortly after graduation in fact, so they normally avoided him at these sorts of events. That didn’t stop them from chatting with him, but it at stopped them from groveling, at the very least.  
He’s so . . . _disappointed_ in you. You’d been his partner—in the practical sense rather than romantic—since the Academy days and you never threw yourself to the wolfhounds like you were tonight. It was true, certainly, that you didn’t have as much funding as he did. But you weren’t specializing in weapons of war, either. In regards to the dynamic the two of you seemed to possess, he was oft reminded of Joplin and Sokolov. You were always just a step behind him, keeping up but just by the skin of your teeth. Yet, unlike Joplin, you weren’t in the least bit resentful. Or even competitive.  
And that was what was so _dissapointing_. As it stood, you had no competitive spirit. You never fought for what you wanted.  
He sighs, exasperated, and glares up the shimmering glass ceiling. He misses Karnaca—misses his office—and he drums his fingers against his sleeve to satisfy the itch to tinker. It was then that he heard your laughter from just across the way, a feather-light sound that somehow rang clear and true across the humdrum bustle.  
Jindosh squints and begins to gather himself up. He had ever intention of leaving this very minute even if it meant he had to carry you out of the gala.  
He stops abruptly, half out of his chair, eyes catching a glimpse of the gentleman you’re with. He’s not a nobleman philanthropist, no. He’s another philosopher. And Kirin recognized him, yes, as one of the better lecturers from earlier. So he was competent, as well. What was his name? Nathaniel Wersh, yes.  
Jindosh slowly descends back into his chair, just on the edge, and continues to sum up this young philosopher who has so elegantly enraptured your attention. You looked positively captivated in the conversation—a look on your face that at one point only Kirin himself had been capable of seeing. The young man is gesturing with enthusiasm, likely discussing his topic of study. He remembers, now, yes. It had been along the same vein as your own. Of course you’d be interested.  
Jindosh eventually adverts his gaze but his mind, in spite of him, cannot concentrate. His migraine is beginning to spread and he’s dizzy with exhaustion and the smell of bile and rum is beginning to drive him into madness. He stands and starts to make his way over to one of the open windows when his eyes spot you again—this time, across the room.  
You were reclining comfortably on the arm of this young natural philosopher, your smile warm and your eyes half lidded. He was leaning in close—too fucking close, it wasn’t even necessary, really—to your ear.  
And perhaps the most essential detail of all this was the direction which the two of you were heading. Toward the private rooms.  
Jindosh held no affinity for you and working day after day with you had made your relationship strictly professional. There had never even been a flirtatious comment, a lingering gaze, and soft touch. Every conversation, even private, had been about current and upcoming projects. It was what the two of you shared together.  
So, by this evidence, Kirin comes to the conclusion that he does not care what you do. As long as you are ready to go within thirty minutes and you can help him brainstorm clockwork designs once you get back to the temporary apartments—what does it matter to him?  
He pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time, rubbing a ceramic finger over the thick class. It ticks in a comforting way, just barely audible over the crowd. He watches the seconds hand jerk forward—one, two, three, four—and he shuts it.  
He’s not jealous.  
Jindosh directs his irritation inward. There should be no reason to state that to himself. To even think it. Of course he’s not jealous, but does he really have to convince his own mind?  
He opens the pocket watch. Not even five minutes have passed.  
Yes, that natural philosopher was indeed younger than him—a _boy_ , by all accounts—but why should he feel inferior? Jindosh was a craftsman, an engineer beyond his time. He had no reason to be in the least bit intimidated by some callow youth fresh from the Academy of Natural Philosophy. Jindosh takes a drag from his pipe with a little too much fervor and nearly ends up sputtering in front of all these people. He discreetly coughs and lets the nicotine takes its affect. Besides, he could provide you more engaging conversations about your major if that’s what you were _wanting_. If you had just _asked_.  
Jindosh puts his weight on one hand and leans out the window. The ocean just on the horizon reminds him of Karnaca. If he ignores the architecture, he can almost pretend he’s home. There’s some comfort in this, but it’s not enough. Besides, he hardly ever spent time alone on his balcony. No, he dedicated most of his time in his laboratory working alongside y—  
A hand touches his shoulder and he bristles, sneering, turning to dismiss whichever philanthropist has approached him. Instead, he’s greeted with your flushed visage.  
He’s so clearly relieved and that fucking irritates him more than anything else that’s happened tonight. You’re deft enough to notice, but you pretend not to. This doesn’t make it better.  
“Back so soon?” He can’t help himself. “I would have thought a young lad like that would keep you preoccupied for at last an hour. Don’t tell—he’s had too much to drink and it’s all soft flesh?”  
You regard him with a depthless glower. Dryly, you retort, “There weren’t any private rooms available. He suggested we could just tear into each other in the hallway. And . . . well, do I need to say more?”  
“What’s wrong, are you not a fan of exhibitionism? If we stay any longer and the wine keeps flowing, I doubt we’ll really have a choice but to participate.”  
He slides his pocket watch back into its place, noticeably. You take the hint. “Let’s take our leave, then?”  
The two of you exit the hot entrance hall and step out into the cool night air. Though he doesn’t expressly acknowledge it, Jindosh is pleased that your romp with the young philosopher didn’t work out as planned. He just as soon would have forgotten about the whole thing if you hadn’t brought it back up once the two of you settled into the carriage.  
“It’s a shame,” you muse, undoing the top buttons of your blouse so that you can relax. He watches you. “I should have given him my mailing address. We had such an interesting conversation. I’d like to speak with him again.”  
Jindosh adjusts his cufflinks. Stiffly.  
“Yes, what a shame. But we’ll be sailing back to Karnaca tomorrow morning. You’ve missed your chance.”  
He doesn’t look up to see the suspicious look given to him. He’s sitting across from you and it’s easy to nudge him with your polished shoe. “Why are you acting so cross? Is it because we stayed so long? I thought it’d be alright since the clockworks are miles of ocean away and there’s not any real work to do in the meantime. Plus I was hoping you’d learn to enjoy yourself.”  
Jindosh looks up at you through his lashes and frowns deeply. “You should know me better by now.”  
“Maybe so,” you deliberate, shrugging off your overcoat. It’s almost hotter in here than it was within the gala. “At any rate, I can’t remember his name. I felt ashamed the whole time. He was referring to me by both my first and surname but I hadn’t been paying any attention when they first introduced him. And after we started talking, it seemed rude to ask halfway through our conversation . . . Kirin.”  
He had been looking out the small windows, listening with his full attention yet appearing uninterested. When you spoke to him, his pale eyes locked onto you in an instant. “Yes?”  
“Do you remember his name? You’re always bragging about your perfect memory.”  
Of course he remembered the name. “No, I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention.”  
Your hands are folded on your lap and as he says this, the digits clench up. “You’re always paying attention. I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”  
“Is that so?” Kirin grins, but it’s empty of mirth or kindness. “So astute of you! Perhaps if you applied that keen concentration to every aspect of your life, you’d remember something as _simplistic_ as the _name_ of a man you almost _fucked on a whim._ ”  
The carriage rolls along, the sound of metal gliding cleanly against metal could almost have been soothing. You stare at him, unaffected by his poisonous words. He becomes almost pensive, thinking to himself that this is not at all how you should be reacting. His disdain only spreads when you crack into a malicious smile.  
“Kirin Jindosh is _jealous_ ,” you tease. He goes rigid, his eyes narrowing into two thin slits. “Jealous! Because of _me!_ ”  
You begin to laugh and he clenches his fists where they’re folded across his chest. He cuts your laughter short when he snaps, “Surely you’re not vain enough to believe I’m jealous just because you put your hands down an Academy graduate’s pants?”  
Chagrin fills him to the brim when you only continue to mock him with your laughter. The two of you speak and your words overlap:  
“I can’t believe you’re jealous of me.”  
“I’m not jealous of him, in the least.”  
This resulted in instantaneous silence. On Kirin’s end, he closed his jaw with a curt ‘snap’. On yours, your breath seemed to leave you as if you’d been punched in the stomach.  
The two of you stared at one another—colleagues, business partners, and almost friends—until finally you said, “Wait, hold on. I thought . . . were you not interested in him too?”  
He considers lying and confessing to your hypothesis. It would save him so much more dignity. But he can’t even do that because then he’s sabotaged himself. Damn you. “Of course I wasn’t interested in—why the hell would I be interested in an amateur philosopher?”  
You nod, absentmindedly, thinking. “But you were covetous. That much is obvious. Don’t even try to convince me otherwise, Jindosh, the cat is out of the bag.”  
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Would you please just drop this? I’m very tired and you’re clearly delusional with exhaustion yourself. Let’s just move on.”  
“No,” you point a finger at him, scooting to the edge of your seat, “No, admit it. Admit that you were envious over me. I’ll let it go once you say it.”  
“What could this _possibly_ accomplish? What do you get out of this absurd victory?” He’s using hand motions now, his agitation getting the better of him. But, by the Outsider, you never stopped once you were determined, did you? “Fine, I’ll just lie to you so that you can hear what you like. I was jealous of that prepubescent novice because of my nonexistent affection for you. Is that adequate? Can I get some god-damned silence now?”  
You didn’t appear satisfied, though. In fact, to his stunned consternation, you sat up and came to sit next to him on the red, velvet plush seats. It wasn’t as though the two of you had never been this close. Several of your shared projects required you both to be back to back or side to side or even nearly on top of one another to simultaneously work on the inner mechanisms of certain machinery. And even more than that, you’d shared a bed a couple of times before when conditions were . . . not as lavish as tonight’s gala. Though in those circumstances, the two of you had lied back to back as platonically as possible.  
This felt . . . different. He should have known you’d pursue this topic to the bitter in. In fact, he would have welcomed this determinism had it been applied to literally _anything else_. But here and now he could only see something new brewing behind your eyes that perhaps had been there before yet remained unnoticed.  
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and he’s grateful when his voice doesn’t shake. “All that socializing has made you intrepid. Sit back before you do something you’ll regret.”  
This doesn’t have the affect he intended. Rather, it seems to embolden you. “Oh? What will you do?”  
Jindosh glares. You know what he’s done. What he’s capable of. But that doesn’t stop you from putting a hand on his thigh. He nearly recoils at the touch. Of course this is how this night was going to go. It takes a great deal of effort to keep from rolling his eyes. “You’re coming across as quite desperate,” he sighs, “And I must admit it’s a tad pathetic.”  
This seems to reach you. You remove your hand and stare at him for a long pause. “There’s no reason at all for you to be so antagonistic. I’ll be the one to say that tonight isn’t the first time I’ve thought about you—,”  
“Stop,” he interrupts, curtly. “You’re about to embarrass yourself.”  
This does it. You retreat back to your seat, lips curled in a sneer. You looked like you wanted to say something more, but you didn’t. The rest of the carriage ride back to your temporary residence was uncomfortable and quiet.  
The doorman greeted the two of you and ushered you into the building. The lobby of the apartment building was empty except for the concierge sitting behind the counter and the elevator operator who asked in a thick Morley accent, “What floor?”  
You separated from one another without a word. Jindosh briefly paused by his door, key in hand, expecting there to be at least some sort of farewell remark. As you began to open your door, he called to you, “5AM, sharp. Don’t make us late.”  
You slammed the door, shaking the wall decorations. Jindosh shrugged to himself and entered his own room. There was a desk near the left corner where he’d already piled a few notes. He had more to add to the collection after tonight’s lecture circuits. He pulls them out of his waist coat and sifts through them, tossing a specific yet unmentionable philospher’s notes into the trash bin before setting the others down.  
He then began to shimmy out of his vest and overcoat, loosening the neck tie. He should bathe while there was still warm, running water to speak of. The boat ride back to Karnaca wouldn’t be nearly as accommodating as this hotel.  
He sent for a lobby boy to bring him fresh towels, then poured himself a glass of brandy. The journey back to Serkonos was going to be all the more exasperating now that you were upset with him. If you were an expert on anything at all, it was holding a grudge. He finishes his first glass and begins to run the water. It was your own damned fault. If you would learn to mind your business and know when to stop then these sorts of occurrences wouldn’t happen. He pour another glass, brow knitted in frustration. Your libido had spiked tonight, that was all. You wouldn’t have been so daring had it not been for that young philosopher arousing you just before. To think, you had risked destroying the partnership the two of you had built just for one roll in the hay!  
The lobby boy is back, knocking on the bedroom door. Kirin sets his drink down and shakes the thoughts from his head. There was no point in dwelling on what had happened. Best, rather, to put it in the past where it belonged. He crosses the room and opens the door for the lobby boy only to be greeted with your image, standing in your night gown, in front of his door. You hold towels in your hands, having likely dismissed the lobby boy on your own.  
“Can I come in?” you ask.  
Despite his suspicions and his better judgement, he says, “Yes, do you need something?”  
You brush past him and he catches the scent of perfume that hadn’t been recognizable during the sweaty, stuffy gala. It piques him how much the smell appealed to his senses.  
He’d asked you a question but you don’t answer, setting the towels down on a polished wooden table near the entrance to the bath. Jindosh watches out of pure curiosity, not even bothering to restate his inquiry. You have a look on your face that he hasn’t seen before; all cylinders in his mind are firing as he tries to place a name to it.  
Just as he thinks he understands what it is, you slip your fingers under the hem of your nightgown and pull it over your thighs, belly, then your head. He stares for a moment, a little dumbfounded like some virgin teenager who’s never seen another person naked before. Then he shakes himself out of it and forces himself to look you in the eyes.  
You don’t say a damned thing, standing there looking like a dream he might have had once, then you turn your back to him—just as lovely of an image—and enter the bathroom.  
He comes to his senses again when he hears the gentle lapping of water indicating that you’ve slipped into the bath. The steam from it is fogging the whole room.  
Genius that he is, he hasn’t figured out what he’s supposed to do next. Ultimately, he decides that the best course of action is to follow you and see where that leads him. At the door, he leans against the frame and stares in silence as you ease into the tub, your naked figure a swirling blur under the rippling water. He watches your hands as you lift one of them, extending a single finger to summon him with.  
Kirin doesn’t move. _This didn’t work for you earlier, in the carriage,_ he thinks to himself begrudgingly, _What makes you think I’ll yield so easily now?_  
Yet your eyes are different now. They don’t flinch when he gives you an apathetic look. You are calm and patient. You aren’t going anywhere.  
So he swallows, hard, and breaks away from the door frame. Taking his time, he begins to shed his own clothing, albeit stubbornly. He will not break the silence that you’ve so evidently established. He stands—naked—next to the tub and for a moment it appears as though you have no intention of moving. Then you lean forward, scooting, giving him room to slide in behind you.  
He’d never seen you so exposed before. And he’d never allowed you to see so much of him, either. The closest to this that the two of you had ever been was before he’d bought the clockwork mansion, before his rise in fame, when both of you had shared a hot little unventilated studio near Santiago Fisheries. The heat would get so intense that you’d both be sitting nearly in your undergarments, toiling away.  
But this? This is an intimacy he had never imagined sharing with you.  
Regardless, Kirin takes the hint and steps in, almost hissing at the heat of the water, then gradually settles down. You’re between his long legs, your bare back spotted with little scars and nicks from years of dangerous work. He admires them, briefly, before you begin to lean back. Jindosh feels his heart leap up into his throat and he almost says something had the surprise not choked it out of him. Your bare skin relaxes against his chest and he can feel the soft flesh of your lower half brushing against his manhood. He takes a moment to collect himself. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough stimulus to amount to anything.  
At this angle, he can’t see your face. But what he can see are your breasts, nipples just barely peaking over the water. He quickly adverts his gaze. He’s uncomfortable, but only because he’s afraid he’s about to betray himself.  
“I remembered his name,” you said and your voice startled him. As the words began to take meaning in his mind, you continued, “He was very engaged in our conversation. Asking me a plethora of questions, providing solutions to some of my causal inquiries . . . and he genuinely seemed to be enjoying my input. Do you remember what he spoke about? I guess it wouldn’t really matter to you, but he and I share the exact same field of research. It felt so strange yet . . . _enticing_ to have a conversation about my passions with someone who could equally match my enthusiasm.”  
A sour taste had started to form on Kirin’s tongue. He felt his chest fill with a foul temper but he managed to keep his breathing steady. You came here just to bother him with this. And now that your body pinned him to the tub and any slight movement away from you would stimulate him again, he was effectively trapped. It was his own damn fault, of course, for giving into your seduction.  
“I’ve decided to write to him,” you continue, reaching to the side to grab a rag and the bar of soap that lied on the wooden nearby. When you moved, your rear nudged against his more sensitive area again and he gritted his teeth, focusing hard on anything but the feeling. Finally, you settle back against him and begin to wet the rag and lather on the soap. “You wouldn’t mind if I took a brief sabbatical, would you, Kirin? Maybe just for a year or so. He offered me a proposition that was rather hard to refuse; the resources, you know, are so much better here in Morley. Perhaps I’ll stay behind and rejoin you in a year?”  
Jindosh scoffs harshly, but says nothing. He will not give you that satisfaction. A sabbatical, ay? You could stay in Morley indefinitely, for all he cared—especially at this moment. Your attempts to rouse a reaction out of him would fail, that much he guaranteed.  
“Nothing to say to that?” You wash yourself—your arms, your legs, your breasts—then you begin to turn around and face him. He sucks in a breath, remaining perfectly still as you steady yourself using the side of the tub, on your knees, water dripping loudly around you. “Nothing at all?”  
His jaw is clenched so tightly it’s a wonder his headache hasn’t returned. He’s infuriated with you. His chest inflates and deflates shallowly as he tries to maintain a relaxed exterior. Cracking a smirk, he retorts, “What? Were you expecting an uproar? I don’t care what you do or who you do it with. Is that really the only point you intended to make with this little—,” he is abruptly cut off when you bring one leg up, past his waist, then the other. You’re straddling him now. The water sloshes, then stills. He has not finished his sentence. He can’t remember his words.  
“Maybe I’ll close my eyes . . .” you begin, leaning forward, breasts brushing against his bare chest. To his dismay, his hands move on their own and he’s now holding you steady by your hips. He looks down, shocked and angered by his body’s betrayal, then back up just as you brush your lips along his jaw, dipping down to his neck. He nearly shudders, heart pounding and his mind racing. “. . . and pretend you’re him.”  
Like a system of gears being jolted into action, all the anger and irritation from this evening erupt at once. Everything flashes white and all he can see is look on your face as that god damned novice bastard lead you toward the private rooms.  
_You little—_  
His hands on your hips tighten then roughly pull you down onto his cock in one fluid, singular motion.  
You cry out in surprise and perhaps a bit of pain, but he abruptly sits up and clamps a hand down on your mouth, muffling you. Your walls tighten around him, twitching, trying to adjust. He feels a bit of pride in knowing that he effectively caught you off guard. Your eyes squint as you attempt to find comfort, tears prickling at the edges. Then, when you finally stop whimpering, he removes the hand and is shocked to find you smiling at him. _Smug_ , he assumes with growing vexation, _I’ll have to do something about that, too._  
He doesn’t care when the water begins to splash over the sides. He doesn’t even care how loud you get. His hands pull you up and down on his cock without hesitation or the slightest bit of restraint. The tiled floors are drenched as you sway your hips, helping him go deeper and harder, moving frantically and desperately. This is just sex for the sake of sex—an emotionless action, chasing orgasm, wordless and full of ambition.  
Your head tilts back, your eyes squeeze shut, frenzied moans slip through your lips no matter how hard you try to resist them. He continues to move your hips, bucking up into you every now and again to get a special sort of cry out of you. Though seeing you like this helps to soothe his rage, it isn’t enough. He reaches up, taking your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. Your face is flushed, your eyes are swimming.  
“Do you still remember his name?” He asks, a wicked smile on his lips. He feels you tighten around him.  
With nearly half the bathwater gone, he’s able to move easier lying back to get a good look at you. You’re bouncing on his lap, panting like a wolfhound in heat, your thighs trembling the closer you get. He’d never seen this side of you and he certainly never realized this side of himself. His left hand rears back and slaps your thigh, earning a joyful squeal, and he revels in the bright red mark it leaves on your skin. _Do you still remember his name?_ He feels something stir in his lower stomach, feels it begin to tighten. Your lips are on him suddenly, hard, sloppy, everything is wet. _Do you still remember his—_  
“Kirin!” you whine, pressing your forehead to his, still gyrating your hips. “Kirin, please!”  
That’s what he wanted to hear, though he never would have come to the realization of that on his own. _My name. Only me._  
He feels you shudder against him, listens to the specific way you moan. He lays there and watches you tremble for a minute. Everything is still.  
He’s still hard and inside of you, but he doesn’t continue to pull at your hips. Instead, he catches his breath and basks in what has just happened before eventually touching your shoulders, lightly sitting you up so that he can move. “Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” he remarks, sounding languid. “What a sordid display all that was. I feel even filthier now than before.”  
Your face, flushed and glazed with a light sweat, contorts in confusion. “But . . . but you haven’t—we can keep going if you’d like.”  
He gives you a disgruntled sigh, moving you off of him so that he can exit the bathtub. You notice that he’s still fairly aroused—obviously—and therefore find it necessary to say, “It feels wrong . . . that I got something out of this and you didn’t.”  
“What else were you expecting? This was about you from the start, wasn’t it?” He wraps a towel around his waist, partially because he’s cold and partially to hide his shame. “I gave you what you came for. Aren’t you satisfied? Now you have your answer.”  
You take a moment to step out of the tub as well, reaching meekly for a towel. “I don’t care if you were or weren’t jealous, Kirin. Well, I did. But I just wanted you to _acknowledge_ our . . .” you trail off, wrapping the towel around yourself. “I wouldn’t want to stay in Morley. I want to go _home_ with you.”  
You move over to touch his arm.  
“I care about you,” you say. He just stares. “Only you, Kirin.”  
Jindosh doesn’t particularly like how this makes him feel. He’s been vulnerable all night without any of his usual defenses. He inwardly curses Morley and all its gusto and in emboldened influences. If the two of you had stayed put in Serkonos, this sort of thing never would have happened. But that’s irrelevant now, it would seem.  
“What do you want me to say to that?” he responds, dejected. He’s just ready to be home again where things were as they should be. He’s tired of feeling this—whatever it was—toward you. And now that you’re looking at him like this, for the thousandth time this evening, he feels it again.  
“You don’t have to say anything. Just let me show you.”  
When and how he ends up against the wall with your mouth around his cock is a mystery. It must be your perfume which somehow lingered despite the bath—it makes his head swim. Your tongue moves in steady twirls and he can feel it glide against the base of his shaft, steady and rhythmic. At first, he kept his hands against the wall, allowing you to work on your own. But then you took him deeper than before, sucking diligently, moaning softly as you did it, and his hands tangled in your wet hair. You moved closer so that he could easily thrust into your mouth, choking you at first until you got used to the sensation. When he comes, it’s while his cock is deep down your throat. You bare it, waiting for him to finish, then pull back to swallow.  
You look up and him. He looks down at you.  
In fifteen minutes, your nightgown is back on. You’re in bed next to him. The lamp is on and he’s reading lecture notes from earlier. You’re sore, but in the nice way. Deep down, you feel like tonight was the start of something much grander in extent. As you ponder on this, Jindosh glances down at you. He assumed he would be in a foul mood after all that had happened, but in truth, he felt decently contented. As if this was some project he’d been putting it off for too long. Your dozing figure next to him eventually rolled over as you fell asleep. He folded the lecture notes carefully and set them aside, flicking off the lamp light. As he lies down, he realizes why he feels so contented.  
At last, you had fought for what you wanted.


End file.
